Viper Moon Read online

  The office door stood open and Victor sat at a utilitarian desk with a notepad and a couple of pens in front of him. Multiple file cabinets stretched along one wall. Father Jacob’s bookkeeping and supply system consisting of hundred of piles of paper didn’t fit the Lamb’s new director and his obsession with organization.

  “Cassandra.” Victor gave me the briefest of smiles and gestured at the chair sitting by the desk. A slim, lanky man, his well-worn clothes came from the thrift shop up the street and matched his equally worn face. Stealthy gray had crept into his dark hair. In another year, it would take over.

  “Hi, Vic.” I sat in the uncomfortable chair. I handed him the photos of Selene and Richard.

  He stared for a moment, then shook his head and laid the photos on the desk. “I’m sorry, my dear, but I haven’t seen them.” Sadness filled his voice.

  “Something wrong?”

  “You mean other than this godforsaken place? The Barrows. Eating at our young, using them, tossing them aside.” He spoke through clenched teeth. A surprise, since he rarely displayed emotion.

  “Whoa, Vic. Talk to me. I’ll do something if I can.”

  He relaxed and a sad smile crossed his face. “Dear Cassandra, our Barrows version of the knight in shining armor.”

  I waited to see if he had more to say.

  “I’m sorry, Cass.” He rubbed his hands over his face and straightened. “Last week, I had a young girl, fourteen, come to me, beg me to help her. She’d hooked up with a Bastinado, one of the Butcher Boys, and he beat her. She wanted to go home. The Lamb isn’t a fortress. I called her parents. No answer. I called the police. No one came. We are low on the priority list, it seems. Before I could do anything else, the place was full of those filthy Bastinado monsters who think they’re still human.” Utter defeat filled his voice. “She went with them, rather than having them tear the place apart and maybe hurt someone.”

  I’d heard his story before in different versions from different people over the years. Pericles Theron’s thugs had done the same thing to Father Jacob with a twelve-year-old boy. I arrived shortly after that violence, though, went in, found and retrieved the boy, thereby putting another notch by my name on Theron’s shit list.

  I bit my lip and didn’t express my irritation. Victor had called the police and the girl’s parents, but he hadn’t called me. Oh, well, I’d do what I could. “See if you can find where the Butchers are hanging now. I’ll see if I can find her.”

  “If she’s alive,” he said softly.

  “I hope she is, but it won’t make a difference in how I deal with them.”

  Victor nodded. “Lady Justice.”

  “No. Only a woman with a pissy attitude. And a gun.”

  “Yes. And, God forgive me, this time I hope you get to use it.”

  Something new. Victor, like Abby, had always discouraged me from using weapons.

  “Has anybody said anything to you about the dark moon?” I asked.

  Victor frowned. “Dark moon? New moon. It happens every month.”

  Father Jacob, like so many others, had had the usual stranger’s blind eye of disbelief turned on the Barrows, even though he lived there. Most who live in the Barrows know, but never speak of it. I don’t know why. Maybe Jacob’s faith kept him from seeing all but what he considered his own life’s purpose. Victor is a far more practical man. I’d bet he forced himself to explore. It had occurred to me, more than once, that he might be a little . . . disturbed. He wouldn’t be the first one who’s mind has slipped from reality because of the bizarre life he leads here.

  “There’s supposed to be some sort of conjunction,” I said. “Stars, planets. Really spooky shit.”

  Victor smiled. “Spooky shit. How eloquent.”

  “You know Michael? The Archangel? He says—”

  “I presume you mean the owner of that decadent exercise studio.” Victor’s eyes narrowed. When he spoke, it was with the same cold rage he’d spoken of the Bastinados. “In the Barrows, Cassandra, there are hideous monsters with fangs and claws that feed on human flesh. And there are beautiful monsters with smiles and gentle hands that feed on human souls. Which do you prefer?”

  “The ones I can kill.”

  “Will you kill Michael or give him your soul? Do not get too close to him. I know him. He’ll destroy you.” Victor’s thin shoulders slumped, making his rummage sale clothes look like they were still on the hanger. “What will happen to the children, Cassandra, if evil takes you and you become what you most abhor?”

  He’d touched on a sensitive point for me. “The Earth Mother would sucker some other adolescent girl into living her life for the cause.”

  I’d discussed my beliefs about the Earth Mother with him, but he accepted them without comment. He was not a person given to casual conversation. I don’t know if he believed me or not. No surprise. I picked up the pictures and returned them to my pocket. “I can’t see Michael as a monster.”

  “That’s the problem.” He grasped my hand.

  I stood and he released me. “Try to find the Butcher Boys’ hangout for me,” I said. Bastinados were not that hard to deal with under certain circumstances. “Okay? I’ll check on your girl.”

  He nodded and I started out the door.

  “Cassandra?”

  I turned back to him.

  “Dark Moon, your Earth Mother, monsters above and below the streets—how do such things survive in the modern world?”

  “Don’t know. It’s a way of life for me.”

  “I’m a Christian, and I shouldn’t even acknowledge such things. But please be careful. That dangerous Michael, and the dark moon . . . I would miss you so much if something happened.”

  I grinned at him and headed down the stairs.

  I’d lied. I could see Michael as a monster. Not the filthy Bastinado kind, but one far worse. Michael would be beautiful and terrible, and those who did his bidding would love him, even as he destroyed us.

  It pissed me off that Reverend Vic had no faith in my ability to resist Michael’s charm. My anger was pure, irrational hypocrisy, of course.

  chapter 12

  Flynn called me as I stepped out the Lost Lamb’s door. I flipped open my phone.

  “Where are you?” he asked.

  “The Lamb, on Twentieth, half a block from River Street.”

  “Stay there. I’m on my way.”

  Since there was minimal cooling inside, I went back, sat at a table in the dining room, and watched the local news on the television mounted on the wall. Another day of record heat, power outages, too many air conditioners, and not enough electricity to go around. An attractive woman in a blue suit came on the screen. She droned on. High pressure covered the Midwest and promised no rain until September. I’d bet a drop of sweat wouldn’t dare form on her perfect alabaster forehead. She finished and the station cut to a commercial when Flynn walked in.

  He sat with me at the table.

  “Find anything?” I asked.

  “Sealed records. None of the old-timers would talk, but I went to old Abraham. He told me a lot.”

  “Abraham?”

  “Janitor. Been at the station for at least fifty years. I don’t know what we’ll do if he ever retires. Institutional memory is a powerful thing.”

  “I know that kind. They’ll probably have to bury him with his mop and broom.”

  “Yeah.” Flynn grinned. “Anyway, he says thirty years ago, back when more people lived in the Barrows, there was a string of baby murders. More than four. Some kidnapped, some murdered in their cribs. Ten years later there was another incident.”

  My stomach knotted and I swallowed hard. “You couldn’t get into sealed records, but Cohen at Avondale dumped us with information? She must’ve been pissed. I’m not sure where to go with this.”

  “Me, either. I’m following you, remember?”

  “Tragically, I do.”

  We exited the Lamb and emerged into a concrete and asphalt oven. Three in the afternoo
n and it hurt to breathe. I’d left the windows open to stave off complete interior meltdown in the car, and I had some rags in the backseat. I used them to open the door and hold on to the steering wheel. At least the seats were cloth.

  All I could do at this point was check out some of my other information sources in the Barrows.

  “I need to talk to some people. You sure you want to tag along?” I asked Flynn.

  “You don’t want me to come with you?”

  “I might not get anything with a cop in tow.” Abby and the Mother needed to stop micromanaging my job.

  “I’m sure you’ll overcome that obstacle,” Flynn said.

  “Maybe. Depends on how fast you are with a pair of handcuffs. Do you think you can refrain from arresting criminals for minor infractions?”

  “How minor?”

  “Anything less than murder.”

  “That stretches the definition of minor. I’ll ignore small drug deals. But armed robbery? No.”

  He wasn’t budging, so I’d have to make the best of it.

  Flynn had taken in a lot this morning. Aside from the nagging fear I know he was carrying for Selene, I’d bet my So what attitude concerning Michael’s criminal record didn’t make him happy. I did care, but running through the Barrows had taught me expediency. I used the tools at hand. Michael was a tool. Or so I thought. Or was Michael using me for some reason?

  Elise was far less a mystery to me than Michael. She seemed like a witch, or at least a strong psychic. Most likely one who delved too deep into mysteries best left alone. One delving journey must’ve stripped her mind bare and seared her soul. Abby told me of such things, a grave danger for those who worked with magic.

  I wasn’t prepared to rush to judgment on Michael, in spite of Theron and the Goblin Den, especially since I knew so little. Michael was right. My less than sterling character didn’t allow me to throw stones. I could, however, make good use of master criminal Carlos Dacardi.

  We rode farther south on River Street. First stop would be Holey Joe’s.

  Flynn scowled as I parked out front. “This is a strip bar. You don’t think—?”

  “I’m looking for information. I saved Joe’s oversexed ass from a bunch of Bastinados one night. It’s been a while since I reminded him of my bravery on his behalf.”

  Flynn raised an eyebrow at my assertion, but didn’t argue. Joseph P. Holey used his entrepreneurial skills to poke greedy fingers into more than one unsavory trade. He didn’t deal in kids, though. That put him a notch above the other scum.

  Flynn followed me through an alley to the back door since the front wouldn’t open for business until after dark. The day’s suffocating blanket of heat morphed to a thick, stinking pool in the close confines between buildings. An unidentifiable dead animal lay next to an overflowing Dumpster, and arrogant rats dined on the carcass. The little bastards didn’t bother to look up as we passed.

  “Try not to breathe too deep,” I told Flynn.

  A single H painted on the wall marked Joe’s place. The steel-barred outer door stood open, but the solid door behind remained closed.

  I pounded on the door. “It’s Cass. I need to see Joe.”

  The lock clicked and the door swung open. I walked in and immediately went on alert. Hector, Joe’s bouncer, stood across the room. A beefy giant with a walnut-sized brain, he’d backed up to give himself room to maneuver. Hector lumbered toward me. I stepped aside, hooked his ankle with my foot, and tripped him. I forgot about Flynn behind me.

  Hector slammed Flynn and they both went down, Hector on top. Flynn’s breath went out in a sharp gasp. Shit! This was all I needed.

  Hector, enraged beyond reason, locked his hands around Flynn’s throat. I grabbed Hector by his hair and jerked his head back so far I could stare into his eyes. I only wanted to get his attention.

  Flynn punched his fist straight up into Hector’s exposed jaw.A short jab, but it connected with the crack of a tree branch snapping under the weight of winter ice. Damn impressive.

  Hector collapsed.

  I was rolling him off Flynn when Sho Yi, Joe’s bartender, arrived.

  “Did it again, didn’t you?” Sho said. “Now I got to rent a bouncer for tonight.”

  “He started it, Sho.”

  Sho didn’t seem genuinely upset. Hector was the kind of guy you really didn’t miss when he was away.

  “Is Joe here?” I asked.

  “Barroom.” Sho nodded at the door. He glanced at Flynn. He hesitated, then said, “Dancer audition.”

  I helped Flynn to his feet. He swayed a few times, then seemed okay, except that I could tell by the way he glared he was pissed at me. It’s not as if I’d intentionally set him up. I smoothed his clothes and dusted off some small pieces of trash. Oh, those muscles felt fine.

  “You were supposed to jump out of the way,” I said, trying to sound apologetic.

  “Is that what we came here for?” Flynn’s voice would have chilled the scorching pavement outside. He rubbed his hand across the fist he’d used to crack Hector’s jaw. No blood, but it had to hurt.

  More words might’ve made things worse, so I turned and went into the dark hallway that led to the main barroom.

  Holey Joe’s was a copy of most strip clubs, complete with tables and a wide U-shaped bar with a pole where patrons could ogle and pay to feel the girls as they danced. Though infinitely cooler than the alley, the air reeked of old beer and stale cigarette smoke.

  Joe sat at one of the tables, his eyes locked on a naked girl standing a few feet away. She made no eye contact with him, and her face had that rigid, I’m-not-reallyhere expression of a much older woman doing something she hated.

  “Turn around—now that’s my girl,” Joe said. His voice was laced with anticipation. Her long dark hair fell to her waist and the light played across her small, slender body, a body that nevertheless curved in the right places. She had the look of a young virgin prepared for sacrifice.

  Flynn stood at my back and had his hand on my waist. It felt good—steady and reassuring—but his fingers tightened. He was, without a doubt, projecting the image of his sister onto the girl. I gently jabbed him with my elbow. “Please not now,” I begged. I felt him relax, but only a little.

  Joe is a self-described voyeur. Only watches—or so he says. I don’t care as long as what he’s watching is willing and at least eighteen.

  Joe jerked when I dragged out a chair and sat across from him. His eyes slid over me and focused on Flynn, who stood behind me. Flynn probably gave him his grimfaced, narrow-eyed, bad-assed cop expression. He’d have a hand close to his gun. Scary stuff, even to me.

  “Don’t sweat it, Joe.” I gave him my best smile. “Unless—” I nodded at the girl.

  “She’s got a birth certificate.” Joe shoved a piece of paper across the table.

  I picked it up and did a bit of calculation on the date. “And she’s thirty-eight years old?”

  Joe leaned over, snatched the paper out of my hand, and held it inches from his face. The man had good distance vision, but refused to wear glasses to read. He studied the paper, then laid it down.

  “Okay, honey,” he said. “Get dressed and come back next year. Don’t need no trouble from her.” He jerked his head at me. Regret filled his voice, but no ill will. She’d given him a show, so it wasn’t a waste. He pulled a wad of hundred-dollar bills out of his shirt pocket, peeled off two, and tossed them on the table. “That’s for your time.”

  The girl shook her head. She quickly dressed, but when she reached for the birth certificate lying on the table, I snatched it away. “You steal this?”

  Her eyes met mine straight on. Being dressed made her feel less vulnerable.

  “It’s my mom’s.” A bit of defiance hummed in her voice. Some desperate situation must have driven her here.

  I winced, but I handed the certificate to her. “You should take Joe’s money if you need it. He has plenty.”

  She glanced at Joe, then back at me. She
scooped up the bills and walked away.

  Joe frowned at me. “Did you hurt Hector again? I had to pay for a week in the hospital last time.”

  “He’ll be okay.” Maybe. If he didn’t have a broken jaw.

  I laid Selene’s and Richard’s photos on the table.

  Joe stared at them and shook his head. His mouth twisted down at the corners. “Girl’s pretty.”

  Flynn laid his hand on my shoulder as if he needed me to steady him.

  “You know Hammer?” I watched Joe closely. He had a small eye tic that fluttered when he lied.

  Joe shrugged. “Met him. Heard he was a runner. Made deliveries, not girls. Or boys.”

  He was telling the truth.

  “You call me if you see him—or these kids. You got my cell.”

  “What’s with the cop?” He eyed Flynn.

  “He’s my bodyguard.”

  Joe laughed, a good-natured sound bouncing around the empty barroom. “You need a bodyguard like Hector needs more thick muscles between his ears.”

  I made Joe let us out the front door because I didn’t want to run into Hector again—if he’d come to, that is. The sun had dropped midway in the west, but the sidewalk baked. A heavy truck rumbled by, headed for the docks, leaving a roiling cloud of stinking, eye-burning smoke behind.

  “Who’s Hammer?” Flynn demanded.

  “A delivery boy mostly, petty thief, pickpocket. He seems to have developed aspirations of greater things if he’s moving children around instead of drugs. I see him around occasionally. As long as it doesn’t involve children, I ignore him.”

  “And the kid? The one in the other photo.”

  I hadn’t told Flynn about Richard, mostly because I didn’t want to explain Dacardi. “Name’s Richard. I found out Hammer had him and Selene a few days ago.”

  His eyes widened and he grabbed my arm. “Hammer. First name? Last name? I can call it in and find—”

  “Absolutely nothing. The Duivel Police could have a name, address, DNA sample, photo. None of it would do any good in the Barrows.”

  “Don’t give me that shit. If you’re holding back—” He squeezed my arm tighter.

  “Let me go. Now!”